


Home

by Oliver_966



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Misunderstandings, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Sherlock Whump, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-26 01:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver_966/pseuds/Oliver_966
Summary: Sherlock went to the pool alone, unarmed, with secret missile plans.When he doesn't come home everyone decides he joined Moriarty out of boredom.Sherlock just wishes someone would save him.





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly a bit different from what I usually write, not noticeably so but I felt like I was stepping out of my comfort zone a bit.  
> I know there are a lot of stories I probably should be writing instead of starting a new one but those were all starting without a clear plan. I have a clear structure for the plot of this one~ I hopefully will stick to it and actually write all Eight planned chapters. I hope ya'll enjoy this.
> 
> The violence in this isn't too detailed because I don't wanna write that but it is a wee bit graphic in placed so trigger warning! Trigger warning for this whole fic rlly tho shfdhfjsdf
> 
> ;3
> 
> This chapter is all about what Sherlock goes through while being kidnapped sooOo~

He had played right into Moriarty's hands looking back. Bringing those missile plans, coming alone unarmed to a swimming pool to meet a dangerous man, telling no one where he was going. No one is coming for him any time soon.

No one is coming for him ever most likely. Moriarty could twist anything to look like anything and it will be easy to twist this to look like Sherlock switching sides on a whim…

Maybe John?  
John is his only hope at this point.

Sherlock shivers as he tries to get comfortable in the damp cell Moriarty has him locked in. The floor is hard and uncomfortable. The chain around his ankle holding him to the wall scratches at his leg. He wonders where he is. He wonders if anyone has noticed he is gone yet. He wonders how long he’ll be here.   
He wonders if he’ll ever escape.  
He wonders if he’ll die here.

\----

“Oh Sherlock surely you know I could get those missile plans anywhere,” Moriarty says and snaps the hard drive in half and slips it into his pocket.  
Sherlock swallows, a slight miscalculation, but he can work with this.

He suddenly becomes aware of a red dot on his arm… oh and his chest, oh….  
“Now Sherly, surely you knew better than to think I would come alone.”

He does know better but...  
He isn’t sure what he was thinking honestly. Sherlock is frozen in fear. ‘What would John do if he was in this situation?’ he asks himself, panicking. ‘

“Oh Sherly, my dear, do you see the situation you’re in now?”

He does.

“No one knows you are here, you told no one your plan, you brought confidential files with you and came unarmed…”

Sherlock is shaking slightly.

“Oh Sherly don’t you worry I won’t kill you, you’re too fun for that.”  
Nononononononono… Sherlock wishes Moriarty would just kill him.

Everything goes black and Sherlock knows he just lost.

\----

The consulting detective sighs and stares at the ceiling as he recalls how he wound up in this situation. How could he be so idiotic?  
Maybe the Anderson is catching.

Being kidnapped is a lot more boring than one would expect.  
He wonders if that’s part of Moriarty’s plan.  
Bore him…  
An effective form of torture but he doubts that is all Moriarty will do.

Too… dull for the kidnapper.  
He’s here for Moriarty's pleasure.

Sherlock drums his fingers on the cold floor. This is dull…  
How long has he been here? A day? ‘Pathetic’

He misses John.

….He is…  
Scared.

\----

Sherlock takes a gasping breath before the water surrounds him again.  
Waterboarding.  
He once read about various methods of torture and their effectiveness. Back then it had seemed so distant, just something he was researching for a case.  
Now he can’t breathe.  
He knows they won’t kill him but he can’t breathe.  
He frantically tries to get out of the grip of Moriarty's men. His throat burns! He tries to scream out for help but now he has inhaled water. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!

Moriarty must have gestured for them to let him up because suddenly there’s air and Sherlock is gasping. His throat hurts and he shakes from coughs. 

“Ah, Sherlock, I’m surprised at you. You react to this kind of torture the same as everyone else.”

In the back of mind, Sherlock wonders how Moriarty expected he would react to drowning?

“Sherly I wonder what’s going on in that big brain of yours?” Moriarty hums, walking up to Sherlock and taking his dripping cheek in his hand.  
“I wonder how long it will take for me to crush that brain.”

Sherlock whines, unable to control himself. He wants to go home. He wants John.  
“Aww, poor baby. I’d get you a blanket but… I love to watch you trying so desperately to get warm in that cold little cell.”

With that Moriarty gestures for his men to take Sherlock back to the room that has recently become his personal hell.

It is as cold as ever. The chain is hooked back to his ankle and Sherlock doesn’t bother to fight, hasn’t since the first day they took him to be tortured.   
He looks at the lines he scratches into the floor using the chain and shudders.  
Day 8 of the rest of his life.

He coughs harshly and trembles.  
His clothes, once pristine, are dirty, torn, and dripping wet.

His stomach growls and he glances over at door where he knows the food will come for him in the middle of the night. 

The consulting detective curls up on the ground and is stuck between nearly crying and feeling nothing.

He dreams of John, exciting cases, and 221B Baker Street.  
Day 8.

\----

Another day another line. He eats his food quickly, desperate for the small amount he can get. He distantly recalls days when he rejected any offered food, complaining about how time-consuming eating was.  
Day 16.  
How can 16 days feel like a lifetime? He knows it’s truly inconsequential in length compared to the rest of his life, yet it feels like the man that got kidnapped 16 days ago was completely different from the Sherlock of today.

Sherlock is aware of Moriarty walking in but he doesn’t look up, he continues to shove the food into his mouth. He needs all the strength he can get if he wants to survive. He has to survive so he can see John.

“As much as I love seeing you all pathetic, today we’re doing something a bit different Sherly.” Moriarty coos.

Sherlock swallows and looks up at his enemy, steeling himself for another day.

“You’re getting cleaned up,” Moriarty announces.

Sherlock raises a brow but says nothing.

Moriarty doesn’t clarify but a man Sherlock is sure he’s seen around here before, maybe he’s one of the ones that held him still while he was whipped.  
His back twinges at the memory.

Sure enough, as Moriarty had said, he is told to strip and shoved in a fairly warm shower and he relishes the feeling despite hurrying. He knows he won’t have another opportunity to clean himself for a while. He stands in the warm water until the man grabs him roughly by the arm and drags him out. He is handed nice clothes and told to make himself look presentable.

He does so.

He stares at his face in the mirror for a moment though.

He looks worn down. Feels it too.   
As he pulls on the nice clothes he swallows. Wearing this reminds him of a better time. They aren’t the same clothes he once wore but… they are certainly closer to what he would have run about London in than his other clothes.

He swallows thickly and wipes at his eyes. Now is not the time. He doesn’t know what Moriarty is up to but he’s sure whatever it is will be absolutely horrible.

Sherlock exits the bathroom and is led up a set of stairs and down a hall much nicer than where he has been before in this place. His curiosity as to where he is is rekindled and he begins to deduce that it is likely where Moriarty lives, perhaps he has been in a basement of some kind…  
How cliche.

“Oh, Sherly you look simply divine. Sit.” 

Sherlock is shoved into a plush chair sitting at the head of a long dining table.

He stares at Moriarty, waiting.

“You’re curious I see,”

The man turns on his heels, facing the wall away from Sherlock, and pulls out his phone.

“You see Sherlock dear, presented with the evidence that you left your apartment late at night alone, with highly confidential missile plans, unarmed and without informing anyone, to meet a dangerous criminal most of your little pets were easily convinced that you had gotten tired of them.”

Moriarty glances over his shoulder and meets Sherlock's eyes.

“Even your brother was easy to convince, he was devastated of course, but hardly surprised. Truly you inspired so little faith in most of the people around you…”  
Moriarty scoffs “except of course your most loyal pet, John Watson.”

Sherlock tenses.

“He just will not shut up. He keeps trying to destroy all my plans. Doesn’t he know I just want a little quality time? Johnny boy isn’t so good at sharing.”

Sherlock shakes his head in fear and mentally begs that Moriarty won’t touch John. John is all that keeps him going.

“Oh don’t you worry, I won’t touch your pet… as long as you do as I say.”

The phone is set down on the table and slid over to Sherlock.

He looks at it and sees skype, open to Johns profile.

“What am I meant to do?”

“Click call. Tell your precious little puppy that you left him. Tell him you hate him. Tell him it was all a game to you and that he got too dull. Make him hate you Sherly. Make it so you can never go back.”

Sherlock closes his eyes “And if I don’t comply?”

“I shoot him. There are snipers trained on him right now.”

Sherlock wants to cry, but he can’t. Not yet.

He clicks call.

There is a perky ringing noise for a moment and he steels himself.  
He glances at Moriarty and finds a smug smile.

Johns grainy face on the screen fills him with dread and relief.

“Sherlock?” John exclaims.  
Sherlock stares at John.  
“John, nice to see you’re doing well even without me there to provide you with a distraction from how pathetic you are.”

Johns' eyes widen “What? Sherlock are you okay? Everyone is saying you’re working for Moriarty but I-” Sherlock interrupts quickly, unable to hear Johns trusting voice “John, I told you once that I wasn’t a hero did I not? Of course, I’m working for Mor-Moriarty now” he stumbles over the name slightly, trembling a bit.

Moriarty glares and Sherlock tries to look composed “He is far less dull company than your lot.”

John stares in shock. “Sherlock- what?”

“I left John. Is that so hard to believe? I left and I became a” he holds up his hand in quotation marks “bad guy” he rolls his eyes “Why not? This was all a game to me anyway.”

John suddenly looks less shocked and more furious.   
He stares at Sherlock for a moment, seemingly unable to think of anything to say, before growling out “you absolute twat.” and hanging up. 

Sherlock drops the phone and Moriarty is petting him, his hands feel like a sickness crawling along his skin.

“Good boy Sherlock. I see John can be used as an effective threat….” 

That smirk… that fucking smirk…. Sherlock wants to scream. He wants to die. He wants John.  
Day 16.

\----

Day 24.  
Sherlock eats his morning meal and then sits in the cell for a while. Could be 10 minutes, could be several hours. He keeps track of the days using the food and the hunger.

He spends the time in his mind palace watching John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and even Mycroft.

He misses them all.  
He doubts they miss him much.  
John certainly doesn’t miss him.   
The look of betrayal on that grainy little video call haunts him, yet he refuses to delete it.   
It’s his last memory of John after all.

Every day at a seemingly random time, probably whenever Moriarty is free, they come in and take him to do something unpleasant.

Sherlock knows he is breaking down from it all.

Today is the same, they come to get him. Drag him somewhere. He pays it all no mind anymore. He feels like a ragdoll, being dragged too and fro, no expression.  
In the room, they throw him down. Moriarty is talking with someone. He doesn’t listen, just slumps over in the chair and waits.  
Moriarty himself is doing the torture today it seems, smirk on his face as usual. The criminal pushes something onto Sherlock's arm, and… oh

That burns, his eyes fill with tears he can’t stop, screams burst from his lips, his whole arm burnsburnsburnsburns stopstopstopstopstopstop  
Moriarty does stop, Sherlock sags over, gasps in pain, ithurtsithurtsithurts  
Then comes his stomach.  
They keep going like this until Sherlock can no longer scream he’s so hoarse.

He is given a sip of water after Moriarty leaves and is tossed back in the cell, his leg chained back in place.

He looks at the burns.

They are all in the shape of hearts with an M in the center.

Branded.  
These will never heal. The scars on his back won’t either he supposes, the small cuts that have been made all over his leg probably won’t fully go away but… this is different.  
This means he will always be Moriartys.  
He will always belong to Moriarty.

A sob bubbles past his lips and he curls in on himself.  
Day 24.

\----

Day 37.  
Why is he alive?   
He eats, he sleeps, he suffers, he sleeps…  
37 days.  
He wants John.

He cries out for John during the sessions recently. He doesn’t mean to, it angers Moriarty, but he has lost much control over his mind palace.  
He is falling apart.  
Destroyed.  
Useless.  
He wants John.

He thinks back to that grainy picture on that Skype call.

“John…” he mumbles hoarsely.

He can never have John again. 

He should just kill himself.   
Day 37

\----

He throws the food out of reach of the chain  
Day 40.

He wants to die.

He died the moment he walked into that pool.

His stomach aches but so does everything else.

\----

Moriarty shoves the food in his mouth and watches with that ever-present smirk. He has complete control of Sherlock. He won’t let the once brilliant detective die, not until he’s bored of him.

Day 45.

\----

Who cares what day it is? Sherlock wonders that as he scratches tally mark 52 onto a floor that seems to be a set of tally marks.  
What is the point of marking the days when every day is the same and every day will always be the same? What does it matter if he had been brought to this dark and cold basement yesterday or 52 days ago? Everything is the same regardless.

\----

Sherlock starts looking forward to the pain. His mind palace is in shambles, all he finds there is pain and Johns grainy face staring at him over a skype call. Memories from before seem foggy. He can remember them, take comfort in them, but in his mind palace, he can’t access them clearly enough to feel like he’s there.  
At least when he’s in pain he feels something other than the horrid numbness.

He looks down at the most recent tally mark.  
He’s been done from John for 64 days.

It’s been roughly two months here.  
So why does it feel like it’s been a lifetime?


	2. Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is being very boring, so he gets dropped on Johns doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OwO what's this? Me actually updating something XD Rareeeee  
> I'm awful about updating and abandon stories frequently but I have a plan for this one so I hope to finish it.  
> I wound up writing a pretty decently long chapter so yayayay...  
> Now to go write Star Trek one shots XD
> 
> ;3 Trigger warnings for mentions of torture and like,,, people being not too nice, ya know the usual thingsss....
> 
> Ya enjoy ig this kinda sucks but at least I wrote it

With a huff, Moriarty turns away from his pet.  
At first, Sherlock was so fun, trying so hard to stay put together. Such a smart man, maybe even smarter than Jim if it weren’t for his attachments to the normal beings of the earth.  
How tragic.

Seems even with his advanced intellect, Sherlock is just as susceptible to torture as any other person in the end. So sad…   
Jim stares as Sherlock lets himself go limp the second his men stop repeatedly hitting him with a whip. The once composed man just curls into a ball on the floor the moment there is nothing preventing him from doing so.

Pathetic! Dull! Ordinary!

Moriarty waves his men away and sighs.

Sherlock has been here for two and a half months… perhaps it’s time for the hero's glorious return home… Ooh, lovely. Moriarty has kept up with what has been going on in Sherlocks little group for the duration of his stay.

The good doctor searched relentlessly for Sherlock until their little call, after which he began working long hours and shutting everyone out. Poor lil doctor felt betrayed. So fun.  
Mycroft Holmes continued on a usual, Moriarty doubts he even cared for his brother's side switch past fear at losing such a powerful ally.

The others were too dull, seeming to either mourn for a bit and then move on or feel smug about having been right all along about the consulting detective.

Hmm… but how to go about returning Sherlock home?

They have to react negatively, it wouldn’t do for all his hard work at destroying the detective to be thrown away just like that… Well, they already all hate Sherlock, John most of all so… what better way to go about this than to dump the detective on his doorstep.

Simple, easy, and effective.

Moriarty grins.

\----

Sherlock wakes up surrounded by darkness in a vehicle instead of to a plate of food and damp cell covered in tally marks.  
He tenses and tries to move as little as possible as if that will stop whatever is happening.  
Where is he going?  
Maybe Moriarty is bored with him?  
Maybe he’s being disposed of?  
Finally.

“Oh fuck he’s awake!” he hears a gruff voice. There is some shuffling and then a thump, followed by pain to his head, then darkness.

When he next wakes he is being throw down somewhere. He hears a harsh “SHhh!” being hissed by the same gruff voice from earlier. Why is he here? Is he being left here? Where is here? He doesn’t like this!

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to try and figure out what is happening. He is bound by rope on the legs and wrist and blindfolded with a rough cloth.  
He’s wearing his usual clothes, but it is not cold here, it’s actually warm. He takes a moment to revel in the feeling of warmth.  
He’s definitely inside then. The ground is carpeted… it feels familiar somehow.   
He rolls around and finds the space he’s in is fairly tight.

“H-e-ell-oo?” he tries to cry out but his voice is hoarse and barely makes a sound.   
He supposes he hasn’t done much other than scream, cry, and sit in silence in a bit… other than a few occasions… such as the call with John, he hasn’t done much talking in over two months actually… 73 days to be exact.

He tries to get the rope off but it’s tied tight and he’s weak.

He can hear cars nearby, outside whatever building he’s in. Traffic. London?

Where is he “H-” his voice cracks and he starts coughing roughly “el-p” he struggles. “So-omeone” he struggles to get out, his voice starting to come back from the disuse.

He swallows and tries again “Help!” it isn’t quite a shout but it’s something.  
He hears a door open somewhere? Up? “He-lp” he calls again.

“Sherlock?” he hears a familiar voice ask sleepily. 

“J-John?” Sherlock tenses, making an attempt to scramble back. No! John hates him. He shouldn’t be here. “I-” 

“What the hell are you doing here?” John grits out.

“I-I-” Sherlock has no clue what to say.

John comes down the stairs that must be near him loudly and walks up to Sherlock, who is tense and trying not to shake in fear.

John hates him. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here! 

The blindfold is ripped off him harshly and the cuts on his forehead sting.  
There is John. The memory of the grainy Skype call is replaced by the real thing, right there, glaring at him harshly.

“John I-” Sherlock scoots back, looking around the small room that he’s stood in a million times. He glances at the wall where he and John laughed after a car chase through London.  
It’s all the same and yet he’s different.

“Sherlock why the hell are you here? I thought we were too dull? Moriarty turns out to be too boring for you? Or maybe Moriarty got tired of you? That would explain the outfit. Or maybe this is a pity thing.”

Sherlock trembles and shakes his head.

Nonononononononononono.

“Why are you here Sherlock?”

He has no answer. He doesn’t know.

“Don’t- kn-” he coughs roughly again “know, I d-don’t know.”

John glares “So Moriarty got bored with you.”

Sherlock shakes his head “No John I- I…” what can he possibly say…  
“I’m calling Lestrade,” John announces.

Sherlock shakes his head “No I don’t- I-”

He watches John pull his mobile out of his pocket and click Lestrade's contact.

Back to a cell he goes, just this time without the pain and the tally marks, now with his old friends hating him and more cold.  
There won’t be any pain though.  
He isn’t sure whether that comforts him or not.

“Lestrade- yeah I know it’s the middle of the night but- look Sherlock is here. Yeah, I’m watching him. Send some people out here to take him in. Yeah of course Lestrade. Okay, thank you.”

John put the phone back in his pocket and stares straight at Sherlock.

“You’ve lost weight. I guess without me there to remind you to eat you didn’t even bother.”

Sherlock thinks back to Moriarty shoving the food into his mouth when he tried to starve himself, and how he swallowed it in fear, and shudders.

John scoffs “You know, when everyone said, ‘Hey Sherlock betrayed us’ and that we should’ve seen it coming… I said ‘no not Sherlock,’ and I looked for you.” John glares at Sherlock “I doubt you care but I thought we were friends, on the way to being maybe even more.”

Sherlock wants to put his hands over his hears and stop hearing this but he can’t. His hands are still tied up behind him.

“Sherlock I thought you were amazing once. Now I see you’re actually just a coward.”

He knows he is and he hates himself for it.

“John…” he mumbles, but John looks away.

‘See me. See that I would never have- I could never have left you John’ he begs in his mind.

John would never be dumb enough to believe that.

Sirens are approaching the home, his old home. Sherlock feels a million miles away.  
Everything hurts.

The sirens are closer and John won’t look him in the eye.

He supposes that’s fair.

He left John…   
He didn’t want to but he did.

The sirens are outside.

Lestrade is here now, looking at Sherlock with disgust.

“It’s hard to beliese he’d leave us the way he did and then just crash back in here like this.”

Sherlock meets Lestrade’s eyes and Lestrade winces, glancing away quickly.  
Sally is here now too.

“So you thought you could get off the hook by bursting in here looking like hell?” she looks over at Lestrade “Probably a pity thing,” she informs him in reference to whatever it is about his appearance that makes him look like…  
Well like he’d been tortured for months.

“Well John, we’re going to take him in. We may need your testimony but that can wait until tomorrow.” Lestrade states softly, putting a hand on Johns' shoulder comfortingly.

“That’s fine Lestrade. I’ll come by after work.”

Lestrade nods and then grabs Sherlock roughly.

Sherlock feels himself being bounced around for a while, takes a burst of fresh night air, and finally is shoved into a police car, in which he promptly slumps over.

He feels achy and depressed.

He wonders how long he’ll spend in prison, and under what charges.

He doesn’t really care, in prison, he can easily access the drugs he needs to make everything stop. He can make the thoughts shut up and all the memories disappear.

The feeling of Moriarty's eyes on him, the pain, the tightness in his lungs as he's drowningdrowningdrowning, John's face staring at him disappointed, they’re cutting him and it hurts, the cell, tiny and everything hurts and he’s alone…

Sherlock closes his eyes and swallows, looking out the window of the police car and taking in London to distract himself from how overwhelming his mind feels.

He glances over at the visibly tired Sally Donovan driving the car.  
Her and Anderson broke off their affair while he was with Moriarty.  
Interesting.

Lestrade on the other hand has…  
Oh, he’s started a relationship with Mycroft.  
How did that happen?

 

“My- brother?” he croaks out indigently.  
He leaves for 75 days and???

“Sherlock I don’t really think you’re entitled to that information anymore.”

He winces.

Well, whatever.

The rest of the ride is silent.

\-----

Lestrade looks at the camera, observing the holding cell containing Sherlock.

The man is sitting on the floor across the room from the bed, which is strange but with Sherlock what isn’t.

With a sigh, Lestrade clicks his boyfriend's contact.  
It only rings for a moment before Mycroft's voice filters through.  
“Gregory… how is he?”  
Mycroft is, of course, upset over Sherlock's betrayal but… he’s his little brother and Mycroft's biggest soft spot.

“Well, he’s certainly… subdued.”

Greg can practically hear the contemplative look on Mycroft's face.

Before Sherlock's disappearance he had only seen Sherlock's boyfriend a few times.  
During the initial investigation however, they had been joined at the hip, searching frantically.

When it the conditions Sherlock met Moriarty under were revealed, however…

Well, they took comfort in each others company afterward and they began a tentative relationship.

“Does he seem harmed?”

“We aren’t sure yet. It appears Moriarty got bored with him and dumped him at Baker Street but we aren't sure what led up to it. I’m going to have him interrogated tomorrow.”

“Mm, that is fair Gregory.” 

Mycroft sounds distant and Gregory feels the same.

Why is Sherlock here?

“To be honest Mycroft he looks… well, he doesn’t seem like he had a very pleasant stay but, we’ll know for sure after a full medical is performed. Regardless… I’m not sure if he’ll face time… the only real crime he committed is selling government secrets but only you know about that.”

Mycroft will get what he means.

“So it’s basically up to me whether my little brother goes to prison or not.” the genius states thoughtfully.

Lestrade stares at Sherlock's cell, the man is pulling at his hair and curling in on himself…

“Yes basically.”

“Interesting…”

They sit in silence for a moment before Gregory mutters “I’m gonna go Myc, but I’ll call you tomorrow.”

…

…..

Lestrade knows he shouldn’t but god he just wants to make Sherlock know how much he’s hurt everyone around him.

He walks down to the holding cell and opens the door.

He stands in front of the genius, who sits up immediately upon him walking in.

“Sherlock, I come in here not as an officer but as someone who used to be your friend…”  
Sherlock looks down, “Does your boss know that”

“Shut up you bastard.”  
Surprisingly the genius does so.

“Why did you do it, no wait I don’t even want to know. There is no reason that can make what you’ve done okay. John lost his job looking for you that first little bit, and then he shut down after that call? Your brother was honest to god an emotional wreck, and I… I could barely believe it… I never believed you were an actual sociopath but… I guess I should have listened to Sally because….” Lestrade trails off his rant when he hears a soft whimper escape, Sherlock.

He looks at the detective… Sherlock has his hands up over his face, pulling at his hair slightly and trying to cover the fact that he’s crying harshly.

Lestrade takes a step back, uncomfortable with the display, but also slightly smug.

“I know this is probably a pity thing Sherlock but… it’s not going to work. You don’t deserve anyone’s empathy after what you did… going off with Moriarty.”

Sherlock nods and Lestrade sighs “Moriarty is a horrible person Sherlock, he hurts people… people’s lives aren’t a game…”

He’s have thought Sherlock would know that… but it seems he doesn’t…

“He killed that woman before you went with him? I know you don’t care for people but? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Sherlock trembles and Lestrade finally just exits the room.

This isn’t worth his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof please leave a comment, it means a lot when you do~~~  
> I get a lot of spam email from colleges after the PSAT tho so if I respond like 2 weeks later a review it got buried under random universities spamming me with "HEY DID YOU SEE THAT WE WANT YOU TO BUY THIS DUMB BOOK THINGY" and Indeed being like "HEY COME APPLY FOR A JOB H

**Author's Note:**

> Ty for reading!!


End file.
